


Just one look

by RuArcher (Coriesocks)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Awkwardness, Boys Kissing, Feel Good Scorbus Fest 2020, Fluff, Getting Together, Good Dad Draco, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Obliviousness, Pining, Voyeurism, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriesocks/pseuds/RuArcher
Summary: It’s the summer before their seventh year and Albus has plans. So does Scorpius, apparently.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 36
Kudos: 285
Collections: Feel Good Scorbus Fest 2020





	Just one look

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BookofSpells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookofSpells/gifts).



> Prompt #37 by Shippersails-BookOfSpells: Albus or Scorpius catches the other wanking.
> 
> Author’s Note: For shipperysails-bookofspells - There’s nothing I love more than awkward Scorbus wanking so I really couldn’t ignore your prompt once I saw it. I hope you enjoy this!  
> A thousand thank yous and socially distant hugs to my betas and cheerleaders, E, V, and A. Any errors or weirdness left are because I ignored their advice <3

Albus stumbles out of the fireplace immediately followed by his suitcase, which almost knocks him to the floor as it tumbles into the back of his legs. _“We’ll send your bags through after,”_ his mum had said. _“It’ll be safer,”_ she’d said. _Safer, my arse,_ Albus grumbles to himself as he gives his clothes a cursory pat down, wincing at the puffs of soot he dislodges. Even bodily harm by a suitcase can’t keep the grin off his face today, though. His mind is already racing ahead to what will surely be the best summer ever. Six weeks with no annoying siblings or cousins or aunties or uncles. Six weeks with no annoying father-son bonding activities. _Six whole weeks with Scorpius._ It’s going to be brilliant. He casts one last wary eye over the mess he’s managed to make, before shrugging it off and grabbing his luggage—one of the Malfoy house elves will sort it, he’s sure. Besides, with his sketchy cleaning charms, he’s likely to make things worse, so really, he’s doing everyone a favour.

He makes it as far as the door before a pointed cough from behind brings him up short.

He whips his head around to find the source of the noise—the room had definitely been empty a second ago…hadn’t it?—and spots Scorpius’s dad shimmering into view in the imposing wingback armchair by the fire, one leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled above his lap, and looking every part the villain some people still believe him to be. Albus doesn’t think he yelps, but judging by the twitch of Draco’s lips, he suspects that something—a manly gasp, perhaps—might have slipped out.

“Albus, it’s good to see you. A quick word, if I may, before you squirrel yourself away with my son.” Mr Malfoy’s voice is calm and non-threatening but even so, a ripple of unease travels down Albus’s spine. Nothing good ever follows the phrase _‘a quick word’._ It’s what teachers say when they want to give him an extra assignment after class, or what his mum says when she wants to rip him a new one without any witnesses.

He straightens and fights the urge to look at the no doubt very expensive hearth rug he has quite possibly left sooty smudges all over. “Is everything okay, Mr Malfoy?” he asks, falling back on politeness in an attempt to quash the panic beginning to niggle at his throat. If he wasn’t getting in shit for making a mess of the rug (not his fault—the Malfoys should keep their fireplaces cleaner) then the only alternative is that something must have happened to Scorpius.

“It’s Draco, please. How many times must I tell you?” He stands, long limbs unfolding with a grace Albus has often marvelled at in Scorpius. _Good breeding,_ he thinks.

“Sorry Mr— I mean, Draco. Sir. Is Scorpius…” He can’t even bring himself to finish the question. If anything has happened to Scorpius, Albus isn’t sure he’ll be able to cope. They’ve made so many plans for the holidays. It’s their last summer holiday before their NEWT year begins in earnest; maybe the last summer they get to spend together _ever_ if they end up going separate directions after their exams next year. What if Scorpius has changed his mind and doesn’t want to see Albus at all?

Draco holds up a hand, clearly reading the anxiety written all over Albus’s face. His smile turns gentle. “There’s nothing to worry about. Scorpius is fine. As usual, he’s absolutely giddy with excitement at your anticipated arrival.”

The tight band around Albus’s chest loosens a little. “Okay…?” He can sense a ‘but.’ He won’t allow himself to relax just yet.

“Albus. Let’s not mince words. I’m fully aware of how important you are to my son; how much you mean to him; how close the pair of you are—”

The band tightens again and Albus draws in a sharp breath because suddenly he knows that Draco knows and oh, Merlin, this is the worst day of his life. He hasn’t even told Scorpius, for fuck’s sake, and now Scorpius’s _dad_ is intervening and is going to ban him from visiting in order to preserve Scorpius’s virtue, or— Oh gods. What if Scorpius has figured out Albus’s pathetic crush and has asked his father to let Albus down gently? He feels heat flooding to his cheeks as his brain rapidly supplies him with every mortifying outcome of the conversation. Curling in on himself and tugging his sleeves down over his hands, Albus wants nothing more than to sink through the floor. He’s never wished harder for a family emergency, or a sudden, localised meteor strike. Hell, he’d even gladly welcome the return of mouldy Voldy at this point. “I— There’s nothing— I mean—”

A hand on his shoulder cuts Albus off before he can stumble over any frantic excuses. He looks up to find Draco looking at him with no small measure of concern in his eyes. “Albus, I don’t know what you’ve brewed up in that overactive imagination of yours, but there’s nothing to worry about, please. Take a few deep breaths.” He squeezes Albus’s shoulder briefly, the hint of a smirk curling the corners of his lips. “As I was saying, you’re important to my son, and by extension, you’re important to me. As such, I think it’s high time you had your own room here—it’s not as if we’re short on the space, after all—so I’ve had Celandine prepare one for you. It’s next door to Scorpius’s, so you’ll still be close enough for late night chats, or whatever it is the pair of you get up to. And of course, you’re not obliged to stay in it, but it’ll be somewhere within the Manor that you can call your own, and you’re free to stay whenever you’d like.”

For a second Albus feels like he’s free-falling from a broom, his head spinning from the sharp u-turn of his emotions. His own room? At the Manor? “I… Wow. This is… I… Thank you!”

“It’s my pleasure. After all, you’ve become like a second son to me; the least I can do is to provide you with a quiet refuge from that madhouse you spawned from.”

“Thank you,” Albus says again, both because it bears repeating and because he can’t think of any words adequate for conveying his appreciation. Would Draco accept a handshake? A hug? Maybe, Albus thinks, he can bake him a cake, or… or draw him some art. He’s got lots of Scorpius’s pictures up around the place, although to be fair, most are from when Scorpius was tiny…so maybe not his best idea. He could offer though?

Albus is thankfully saved from any potentially embarrassing displays of gratitude by the appearance of Scorpius in the doorway, managing to look both overjoyed and annoyed at the same time. His relief is short-lived, though, because how dare Scorpius look so good in a pair of too-short jogging bottoms and the vintage Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt he’d borrowed from Albus sometime last year and never returned.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he was here. You said you’d tell me when he arrived!” Scorpius whines, glaring at his dad before engulfing Albus in a suffocating hug.

Albus brings his arms up, wraps them around Scorpius, but something feels off. Stiff, even. Or maybe it’s just him. He can feel Draco’s eyes on them so he pulls away too quickly, smoothing his hands down his hoodie. He ignores the faint look of hurt, of confusion, on Scorpius’s face—he probably imagined it anyway—and forces a smile even though his feelings are all over the place.

“Sooo, are you gonna show me my new room or what?” he asks, mostly to stop Scorpius looking at him like he deliberately sat on a kitten, but also keen to get out from under Draco’s gaze.

“Oh! Of course! Oh my word, Albus, you are going to LOVE it. At least, I hope you do. I picked out the colours, the furniture, the drapes, the accessories and so forth so, no pressure, but if you don’t like it, I might cry.” He laughs, a shrill, nervous sound, and Albus wants to hug him. “Come on, then,” Scorpius continues after clearing his throat. “What are we waiting for?” He grabs Albus by the elbow and steers him out of the room, talking non-stop with his eagerness to describe the room down to the last fibre.

“See you at dinner, boys,” Draco calls after them, and Albus pretends he doesn’t see the knowing smirk on Draco’s face.

———

Albus walks in contemplative silence next to Scorpius as they make their way through the seemingly endless corridors of the Manor to the bedrooms. He means to pay attention to the route they take—even after having stayed over numerous times, Albus still isn’t sure he could find his way to Scorpius’s room without getting lost—but his thoughts keep drifting. He’s beyond excited to be so fully accepted into the Malfoy family—Draco’s always been so kind to him, even when Albus’s dad was still being a bit of a childish prick—but he can’t help but wonder what this might mean for his chances with Scorpius, and whether Draco’s knowing look means there is an ulterior motive behind giving him his own room; a subtle hint to keep his hands to himself, perhaps. Then again, he’s probably just over-thinking things…

He’s ripped from his thoughts by the sudden sensation of cool fingers wrapping tightly around his arm.

Alarmed, he looks around, expecting… well, he’s not sure what, but something terrible and dark, certainly. Only, all he finds is Scorpius beaming at him, eyes alight. Albus relaxes fractionally—Scorpius is radiating too much energy for him to settle completely, and that’s not counting the effect of the hand still wrapped around Albus’s forearm, searing an imprint into Albus’s skin—but then Scorpius leans in towards him, his face drawing closer and closer until Albus can see the faint scar below his left eye; can feel Scorpius’s breath gusting across his cheek as he reaches across Albus, their chests barely an inch apart. Albus holds his breath, too afraid to move because what the fuck is happening? Is Scorpius going to kiss him? Is this really happening? His heart feels like it’s tripping over itself to escape through his throat. _Oh gods oh gods ohgodsohgodsohgods…_

But then: “Ta-da!” Scorpius pushes open the door beside them with a flourish and stands back, gesturing to Albus to enter.

“Ta— what?” Albus shakes his head, trying to catch up to what’s going on. Then he remembers and his face floods with heat. “Oooh, my room. Right.” Fuck. He’s such an idiot. What if he’d leant in to meet Scorpius halfway? _What if he’d actually tried to shove his tongue down Scorpius’s throat?_ Merlin, fuck. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

“What do you mean ‘oh my room’? Albus! Aren’t you even a little bit excited?” Scorpius pouts. It’s ridiculously cute and Albus has to look away to hide his deepening blush. Luckily he has the excuse of his new room to look at.

Albus edges over the threshold and slowly takes it all in. Scorpius keeps quiet, but Albus can feel his eyes on him, can clearly imagine the way he must be rocking on the balls of his feet, clenching his hands together, biting his lip as he vibrates with the need to talk. He puts it out of his mind and focuses. At first glance, it’s just a normal, if well-appointed room, with a bed, a desk, bookshelves, a dressing table… actually, it’s more like a high-end hotel room than a ‘normal’ bedroom. What is he supposed to do with all this furniture? He has one suitcase which he’d intended to live out of for six weeks, and basically everything he’s brought will fit in the bedside table. But then Albus starts to notice the little details, the things only someone who knows him well would get right: the bookshelves with one shelf already full of manga and other muggle graphic novels they’d bought together; the reading nook in one corner; the easel, set up one side of the window; a picture of Albus’s family sat on the bedside table, because no matter how much Albus moans about them, Scorpius knows how much he loves them.

He turns back to Scorpius, reluctant to drag his eyes from his room. _His_ room. “I love it, really. It’s brilliant. Thanks.”

Scorpius sags. “Oh, thank Merlin. I mean, I was fairly certain you would like it, but Dad literally gave me three days to decorate—apparently he thought I’d let you in on the surprise if he told me too soon, can you believe it??—Anyway, it was all done in a bit of a rush and you are totally welcome to change any bits you want. Burn the place to the ground and start from scratch if you want… although on second thought, Dad may not actually appreciate that sooo… You can definitely redecorate though. I mean, you could repaint the whole room hot pink with yellow spots and he’d be fine with it.”

Albus snorted. “Do I look like someone who’d want a hot pink room?”

“I wouldn’t like to assume, Albus. Who am I to stifle your desires?”

“I don’t want to redecorate. Especially not hot pink. This is the best room I’ve ever seen. Ever.”

“Ahhh, brill! Okay, so through here—” he gestures to a door in the opposite wall that Albus had assumed lead to a wardrobe. “—you’ll find the en suite—”

“I have an en suite?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t you?” Scorpius frowns at him and Albus just rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Celandine will come and clean it every other day, but if you run out of anything, just give her a call.”

“Your house elf isn’t going to listen to me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. One, she loves you. And two, as well as giving you your own room, Dad’s keyed you into the wards. So, as far as Celandine and the other elves are concerned, you’re family. Which means full summoning rights!”

“Oh.” Albus is simultaneously warmed and horrified. Family. That adds a sickening new dimension to his crush. He’d never actually believed that Scorpius returned his more-than-platonic feelings, but he had still held out hope that maybe…one day… he might be convinced…? But no, obviously not. Scorpius is emphasising the ‘family’ bit. He hadn’t needed to say that. He’s establishing boundaries in that indirect manner of his and Albus knows he would do well to remember it.

“This door here connects our rooms,” Scorpius says, already pushing it open. “I’ll leave you to get settled and unpack. Come find me when you’re done!”

Scorpius waves as he departs, shutting the connecting door behind him and Albus lets out a breath. He sits down heavily on the edge of the bed. His bed. He doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the next six weeks. If he’s honest with himself, he’s been bricking it, thinking about how difficult it will be to hide his non-platonic feelings from Scorpius; the two of them alone in a room together, night after night, in Scorpius’s king sized bed—it’s quite a bit more intimate than their dorm at school. He’s spent longer than he’d like to admit panicking about accidentally admitting something revealing in his sleep, or worse, poking Scorpius with his…interest. The funny thing is, he had actually been planning on confessing his feelings to Scorpius at some point over the summer—or at least, he’d been hoping to test the water a little—but now he’s starting to feel like Scorpius is backing away. It’s confusing and he hates all the uncertainty.

So, while it _should_ be a relief having his own room with all that’s going on in his head, it just feels like a preemptive rejection.

In the end, he doesn’t unpack. It all feels a bit pointless so he just tosses his suitcase into the corner and lies on the bed to collect his thoughts before he has to go find Scorpius.

After an enjoyable night that had included an unnecessarily extravagant dinner, several rounds of wizard chess, an attempt at wizard Cluedo, and a good few hours worth of video games (Albus will forever be grateful to Scorpius for figuring out the trick to getting Muggle electronics to work at the Manor), Albus doesn’t get to crawl into his new bed until the sky is starting to lighten. He’s knackered, but it’s a good knackered and he’s feeling far more positive about things. Sure, he still has a soul destroying crush on his best friend, but what’s new? He’s been dealing with these feelings for so long, it’s just his normal state of being now.

Sleep claims him quickly, even though the room feels empty without Scorpius’s soft snores. He’ll get used to it, though. He has to.

———

Albus stretches and nuzzles into the pillow he’s hugging to his chest. His body feels loose and warm. Comfortable; the sheets cocooning him, soft against his skin. He spends a short while drifting between sleep and wakefulness, not quite ready to get up, but then the pervading stillness of his room starts to grate. He’s used to noise, to the hum of voices filtering up from other rooms, the clatter of a well-used kitchen, the gurgle of water, other people’s snores, but there’s nothing and for a moment it throws him because without the noises he can’t work out where he is.

He slowly cracks his eyes open and raises onto his elbows. The room is dim, but there’s enough sunlight pouring through the gaps in the curtains that he can see the sleek, unfamiliar furniture, the peppery grey walls. He frowns, still a little disoriented but then his gaze catches on the photo of his family, waving and smiling—James making bunny ears behind his head, of course—and it all clicks into place: he’s at the Manor. In his new room. He grins and flops back onto his bed, letting his eyes drift shut again. Scorpius will no doubt burst in once he’s awake, so for now, Albus decides to make the most of doing absolutely fuck all.

It’s his bladder that eventually drives Albus out of his bed. He shivers as he slips out from under the duvet, the air chilly after the warmth of his bed, but it’s nothing he’s not used to in the Slytherin dorms, so he forgoes the dressing gown and shuffles over to the bathroom. ( _His_ bathroom—he’s never going to get used to this.)

Pressing needs out of the way and feeling much more comfortable, Albus wanders back into his room and looks around. It suddenly strikes him that he and Scorpius have never not slept in the same room when they’ve been in the same place and he has absolutely no idea what to do now. Normally Scorpius is first up, dragging Albus out of bed because he apparently can’t bear being alone with his thoughts for more than a few minutes so Albus isn’t sure what to do with this role reversal. Should he go and wake Scorpius up? Or is Scorpius already up and busy with something, helping his dad with paperwork or whatever it is Malfoys do for fun? Perhaps Scorpius is finally respecting Albus’s need for sleep and waiting patiently for Albus to get up (for the first time ever). He mooches about his room for a few minutes, opening drawers, flicking through books on the shelves, watching the peacocks in the garden. He’s not exactly trying to make enough noise to let Scorpius know he’s up, but he’s not trying _not_ to make noise either.

The silence from next door continues.

When Albus’s stomach rumbles, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten, he glances at the connecting door. Is this how Scorpius feels every morning waiting for him to get up? No wonder he resorts to forcibly removing Albus from bed. He supposes he could go to the kitchens to forage for himself or attempt to summon one of the Malfoy house elves. He’s never been comfortable ordering house elves around, though— _thanks, Auntie ‘Mione_ —and he doesn’t entirely trust that he won’t take a wrong turn and end up in a room full of dark artifacts if he wanders through the Manor unsupervised (Dad is still convinced Draco has a stash of them somewhere, which is probably why he visits at least once a month). So, it seems his only options are starving to death, or waking Scorpius.

Albus tip-toes to the door and pauses. He’s not sure why he does it—he and Scorpius have shared a room for most of the last six years so neither of them is shy about being caught sleeping or dressing by the other—but there’s something about being sealed away in different rooms which makes Albus feel more… cautious? There’s suddenly a boundary between them but there’s been no discussion about whether or not it’s okay to cross it. He should probably knock—that’s a thing normal people do before entering a room, right?—but if Scorpius is asleep rather than reading or pottering, he obviously needs the rest and Albus is loath to wake him unnecessarily. Which leaves eavesdropping, a skill he’s honed from a childhood spent listening in on conversations not meant for his ears.

He moves to press his ear to the wood, but as he draws close, something brushes against his skin, a tickly, clingy sensation, not unlike walking through a spiderweb. A silencing charm, and a strong one at that. The kind his dad uses when he needs to talk shop at home and doesn’t want them (mostly Albus) listening in. He’s not too surprised though, as it isn’t unusual to find pockets of silence around certain rooms in the Manor. Albus remembers asking Draco about it the first time he’d visited. Draco had replied, “People who are up to no good rarely want to be overheard,” and Albus had decided then that he never wanted to be alone with Scorpius’s dad. Thankfully, their relationship has improved greatly since then, and with hindsight, Albus suspects Draco had been testing his reactions to see whether his similarity to his father started or ended with his appearance.

Shrugging off the vaguely unpleasant tingle of the charm, Albus carefully eases the door open. He just wants to check if Scorpius is asleep, then he can plan from there. A tiny part of him needs the reassurance that Scorpius is okay too—the presence of the silencing charm might be normal enough, but something doesn’t sit right with Albus. Why would Scorpius need a silencing charm, for one?

The first thing that hits Albus is the heat in the room. The air is thick with Scorpius’s familiar scent—the warm spice and vanilla tones of his cologne, the citrus of his shower gel, the mustiness of ancient books—but there’s something else too, something heavier hanging in the air. Albus can’t quite place it, but he’s sure he’s smelled it before. The curtains are drawn; thick, heavy drapes that block almost all light coming through and Albus can’t see much of anything after the brightness of his own room. His ears work fine, though, and he can hear faint, breathy noises coming from the direction of Scorpius’s bed against the opposite wall. It’s a four-poster but the curtains are hanging open wide enough that Albus can make out the outline of his friend lying prone on the mattress, a pale smudge on dark sheets.

Albus creeps closer, trying to identify the noise. It isn’t the sound of someone peacefully slumbering, but neither does it sound like someone distressed from a nightmare or someone in danger. There’s a breathy sound, like a soft gasp; a whisper of fabric; and then something… wetter. Curiosity drives Albus onwards, ever closer, even as his brain is screaming at him to back away and leave his friend to what is rapidly seeming like a very private moment. Albus rubs his eyes, willing them to adjust to the darkness faster. He should leave. He can’t leave. He just wants one quick look… just to confirm… just to see…

Another hesitant step forwards, breath held, hand reaching out for the bed curtain to get a better look. He notices the blankets, shoved unceremoniously to the foot of the bed. Two shapeless mounds on the bed resolve into Scorpius’s feet as Albus’s eyes slowly become accustomed to the gloom. He follows the line of Scorpius’s legs up, gaze dragging slowly over calf, across knee, temporarily stalling at lower thigh— He’s fairly sure he knows now what’s coming; can hear it, smell it, see movement in his peripheral vision… but if he doesn’t look directly at it, it’s not as weird, right? If he’s not seen anything that could incriminate him if viewed in a pensieve, there’s still time to salvage some scraps of his dignity... If caught now, he can still vaguely claim that he hadn’t been sure what was happening and was just checking Scorpius was okay… If he leaves now…

But his legs refuse to cooperate.

Scorpius moans and Albus’s gaze slips higher, taking in the rest of the scene in one quick sweep, and—

His eyes catch on Scorpius’s lap. Or rather, what Scorpius’s hands are busy doing there because _bloody hell_. There’s no fucking denying it now. No unseeing the image that is now gracing his eyes—an image he knows he’ll be reliving in glorious, full-colour detail from now until forever, every single time he closes his eyes—because Scorpius is stark bollock naked. He’s got one hand wrapped around his shaft, sliding up and down in a slow, teasing pace, drawing out faint panting gasps that shoot straight to Albus’s cock, while the other tugs at his balls. The movement is hypnotic and Albus cannot look away. He has officially crossed the line from accidental voyeur to intentional degenerate. Bloody fucking hell. Scorpius is having a cheeky wank and Albus is just looming over him like the truly terrible friend he is. Merlin’s fucking knickers.

Albus glances up at Scorpius’s face—something he should have probably done sooner, he thinks—and finds his eyes squeezed shut so he can’t have noticed Albus yet. _It’s not too late to back away._ He can quietly sneak back to his room, pretend nothing has happened. Pretend he never caught his friend giving himself a quick handy. Of course, he’ll never be able to look Scorpius in the eye again, but how much worse will it be if Scorpius catches him?

But… he can’t move. It’s like his dick has managed to cast a permanent sticking charm on his feet; like he’s been Petrificused. He can barely draw breath, let alone blink or look away. His best friend is naked, sprawled on a bed, tugging himself off and all Albus can do is stare. Scorpius’s eyes are scrunched shut, his mouth hanging open as he pants, brows drawn together. Albus has imagined this moment for far too long, has thought in great detail about what Scorpius would look like in the throes of passion, has a perfect mental image of his cheeks flushed red from exertion, lips bitten plump.

Scorpius’s pale skin glows in the faint sunlight seeping beneath the curtains, a beautiful flush spreading across his chest, skin slick from sweat. Beads of precome dot his abdomen, glistening as the muscles twitch. The hand on his cock is moving faster, Scorpius’s movements becoming more frantic and Albus watches on, rapt, as Scorpius brings his knees up, spreading himself wider, the fingers that were teasing his balls dipping further back, slipping into the shadows beneath.

Arousal pulses through Albus’s dick. He slides one hand down and adjusts himself, presses the heel of his palm into his crotch to relieve some of the tension. Fuck that feels good. Scorpius is really going for it now. Delicate fingers curled into a fist, sliding up and down his length, breath coming harder and faster. Albus pushes back against his own hardness, grinding his palm down again and again, matching Scorpius thrust for thrust.

 _“Albus,”_ Scorpius hisses.

Albus yanks his hand away from his cock and flicks his eyes up to Scorpius’s face, certain he’s been seen, but… but Scorpius’s eyes are still closed. Which means… what does it mean? Why did Scorpius say his name? Did he imagine it?

“Oh god, Albus, please.”

Scorpius’s voice is so soft it’s barely a whisper, but there’s no mistaking it this time. Albus is unable to stifle his gasp as a hot spike of arousal cuts through him.

He bites down on his free hand to try and cut off a groan before it can be released, but he must have made a sound because Scorpius’s hand stills. Albus flicks his eyes up and finds Scorpius staring back at him, eyes wide, cheeks beautifully flushed, hair a chaotic mess.

Albus tenses. Stares back. Scorpius doesn’t flinch, doesn’t yelp, doesn’t scream for help. He swallows, slowly, deliberately—Albus can see the bob of his Adam’s apple—and then Scorpius drops his gaze, eyes dragging over Albus’s body. He feels exposed, vulnerable, under the scrutiny even though Scorpius is the one naked. Scorpius’s brows twitch upward as his eyes catch on Albus’s groin, his gaze morphing from a sort of nervous curiosity to something altogether more calculating. Too late, Albus realises his hand is still pressed against his dick, but he daren’t move it lest he draws attention to what he knows is an embarrassingly obvious erection that his boxers will do little to hide.

Seconds, minutes, hours pass. An indeterminate time, marked by the unwavering _tick tick tick_ of the antique clock on the mantelpiece. The air feels thick. Albus’s heart is galloping in his chest. He thinks he might be about to faint—from lack of blood to important parts, or embarrassment, he isn’t sure which. His body certainly seems keen to direct all blood flow to either his super-heated cheeks, or the hard-on in his boxers that doesn’t appear to be in any rush to settle down.

Scorpius moves first, breaking the stalemate by drawing his hand along his length to the head, then back down. Up. And then down again. A slow, steady drag. His eyes don’t leave Albus’s for an instant. He’s wanking and he’s staring. He’s licking his lower lip, pulling it between his teeth. His movements are uncertain to start, but when Albus doesn’t flee or cover his eyes, he appears to grow in confidence. Albus couldn’t flee even if he wanted to. He’s pinned down by Scorpius’s gaze. Torn between meeting Scorpius’s eyes or staring at what his hands are doing. He’s struggling to draw breath, let alone make any sensible decision. He’s never seen anything more beautiful than this; his best friend, the boy he’s been in love with for years, spread out naked and writhing on pale grey Egyptian cotton sheets. _For him._

Albus edges closer, desire making him bold. His knees hit the end of the bed and he clambers on, shuffling forwards until he’s practically sitting between Scorpius’s outstretched legs.

“Touch yourself,” Scorpius murmurs, his voice rough, and it takes a couple of moments before Albus realises what he just said.

“Are… are you sure that’s a good idea?” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Why is he trying to stop this? _SHUT UP, ALBUS!_

“Please,” Scorpius says around a whimper.

“Fuck. Sure. Okay. Let me just…” Albus shoves a hand into his boxers and as his fingers wrap around his cock, he can’t help the groan that escapes. It feels weird doing this with Scorpius watching but… if he doesn’t think… if he just _feels…_

“Can I see? I want to see. It’s only fair.” Scorpius smirks at him, then his brows draw together as he inhales sharply.

Fuck, Albus doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on. “Uh, sure. Yeah. Alright.” He yanks his boxers down, the elastic pulling tightly around his thighs.

Their hands move in tandem. Albus shuffles nearer still, his knees now nudging the inside of Scorpius’s thighs. He’s not going to last much longer and he wants— no, he _needs_ Scorpius to be just as close to the edge as he is. The way Scorpius is looking at him, watching his face, eyes flicking down to Albus’s cock as he fucks into his fist—Albus has never wanted anyone as much as he’s wanted Scorpius. How could ever have thought he’d be happy not having this? Even if it’s just this once—

 _What if it’s just this once?_ What is he doing? This could ruin everything. How can he go back to how things were with Scorpius now he’s seen this? He should stop before things go too far… or further… there’s still time to…

Bollocks to it. When is he going to get another chance like this? He leans forward, resting his weight on his forearm at the side of Scorpius’s head and captures his lips in a desperate kiss. Scorpius inhales sharply at the sudden contact, but then melts beneath him, his body, his mouth opening up to Albus, soft and sweet. Slender fingers thread through Albus’s hair; a deliciously sharp tug as Scorpius holds him close.

Scorpius comes first, body going rigid beneath Albus as he shudders through his orgasm, but Albus isn’t far behind. The heat coiling in his groin blossoms outwards and he spills over his fist, over Scorpius, with a strangled cry.

Albus catches his breath, his forehead resting against Scorpius’s. His arm is trembling from the effort of holding himself up so he rolls to the side and flops onto his back. He can feel Scorpius watching him, can see his chest heaving out of the corner of his eye, but can’t bring himself to look at him directly. He wants to stay in this moment, languid, sated, content. He doesn’t want to see the look on Scorpius’s face as he apologises and makes excuses, suggests they forget it ever happened. Because surely he will. Albus has no idea why it happened, but he’s under no illusion that Scorpius will want to do it again. He probably saw an opportunity and wanted to see what it was like. That’s him all over — keenly curious, unafraid to meet a challenge head on and try something out. As long as he stares at the bed canopy, Albus can cling to the hope that this isn’t a one off, that it isn’t the beginning of the end for them.

Albus stares up at the ceiling counting every breath. In, out. Pause. In, out. He feels a little disconnected from his body, like he’s floating just above it. Not in a creepy ‘am I dead’ way, but in a ‘what the fuck just happened’ way. It’s surreal. He’s wanted Scorpius for so long, but he never once thought…

Scorpius shifts beside him. Albus wants to look over, but he’s worried what he’ll see. What if Scorpius has his panicked face on; the one he wears when he’s done something truly regrettable and knows he has to own up. Albus thinks he might die if that’s the case. He wishes Scorpius would say something. He can only imagine he’s politely waiting for Albus to excuse himself. Gods, this is awkward. He considers breaking the silence himself, but can’t think of anything to say. He knows what he wants to say (’Hey, Scorpius, mate, that was bloody amazing. Any chance we can do it again? Regularly? Or was it just a one off? I’d appreciate a heads up either way. Thanks.’) but there is no way he can think of phrasing it that doesn’t make him want to punch himself in the face and then cast a permanent sticking charm on his lips. Would Scorpius forgive him if he were to flee the room and Floo his dad to ask if he can spend the summer with them after all?

“I should go,” he says once the silence has stretched too long. He rolls off the bed, awkwardly yanking up his boxers.

“What?”

“We should probably just shower, and... I don’t know. Get breakfast or something. Start pretending this never happened…right?”

“Um, sure? If that’s… If that’s what you want?” Scorpius’s voice is small, pained. It’s enough to make Albus look around and finally make eye contact. His breath catches as he takes in Scorpius’s dishevelled appearance, sat up in bed, sheets a tangled mess around him—their come still smeared on his chest—and he looks for all the world like he’s about to cry.

“I didn’t think— I mean, you don’t want— For fuck’s sake, Scorp. You’re not gay. You don’t want me. Not like this.”

Scorpius’s expression hardens. “I’m pretty sure it’s up to me to say whether or not I want something.”

Albus frowns. “What?”

“For Circe’s sake. You’re always so self-absorbed! Do you think any of that would have happened if I didn’t want it? Do you think so little of me?”

“I… No! Of course not, but… But you’re not… you don’t like boys.”

“Clearly evidence points to the contrary, Albus. Honestly!”

“But—”

“Did this really mean nothing to you? Do you not like me?”

“No. Yes. I mean—” He quickly shakes his head. “I mean, of course it didn’t mean _nothing_. God, Scorp, I…I really like you. A lot. I just never thought that…you… too.”

“Yes, well. Far be it from you to break the habit of a lifetime and actually look past the end of your own nose for once.” He folds his arms across his chest, chin jutting out. Pouting. Cheeks pink. He looks ridiculous. He looks adorable.

Albus grins. “You like me too?” he asks, shuffling closer to the bed.

“I really think that’s quite obvious, Albus. You walked in on me masturbating to the thought of you.”

Albus snorts out an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah… About that. You knew I was in the next room. Were you actually hoping I’d come in or…?”

Scorpius flushes, a deep pink spreading across his chest “Ah, no. I… I woke up feeling a little flustered and, you know how it is. I sort of forgot you were there. I certainly didn’t expect you to walk in!”

“Sorry… I was hungry. I would have knocked but…” He shrugs.

“As it happens, I’m not cross, considering how things turned out. That is, if we are now elevating our friendship to the next level as a result?”

“Next level of what? Are you… is this you asking if we’re…?”

“Boyfriends. Yes. If that’s what you want? I’m not sure I could do anything too casual but I suppose we could work something out if that’s what you want? I’ve never done this before, as you well know, so I’m not sure of the etiquette of this sort of situation. I suppose I should apologise in advance for doing or saying something terribly gauche or—”

Albus can’t help it. He clambers onto the bed and shuts Scorpius up with a kiss before he can ramble himself into a hole. Scorpius gasps but leans into it. “Boyfriends is perfect,” Albus says, gently guiding Scorpius onto his back. He settles himself over him, supporting his weight on his forearms and looks down at Scorpius, scarcely able to believe it is true, but then he leans in to kiss him again and Scorpius meets him halfway. His boyfriend. He thinks he could get used to this.

“Boys, might I suggest you rouse yourselves soon? Breakfast has been ready for hours. I recommend you come down and eat something before we have to start calling it lunch.”

Draco’s voice rings out across the still-dark room and Scorpius shrieks, yanking the duvet up until only his eyes and a shock of blond hair are visible peeking over the top. Albus dives to the side, seeking shelter but manages to completely misjudge things and lands arse-way up on the floor. He scrabbles to a sitting position, made harder because he refuses to remove his hands from where they’re shielding his bits, and warily searches the room for Scorpius’s dad.

When he spots the achingly adorable fennec fox patronus chasing its tail on the rug, he wilts from the relief. Merlin, he doesn’t know what he would have done if it had actually been Draco standing there. He’d probably have to Floo home and then explain to his parents why he was suddenly without his knob and bollocks. He shudders.

“I thought you said we could sleep in? Why’s your dad making us get up?” Albus whines, picking himself off the floor. And then a thought occurs to him that makes his stomach lurch. “You don’t think… You don’t think he knows we… you know...”

Scorpius smiles and grabs his hand, tugging him back onto the bed. Albus falls easily into his arms. “Considering he’s been aware of my crush for the last three years, I wouldn’t put it past him to assume.”

“Oh gods.” Albus groans, burying his face in Scorpius’s chest, remembering at the last second the mess smeared across it. Fuck it. That’s what showers are for.

“Don’t worry. He’s not going to say anything. Probably. Although I should say, if for some reason he decides to take it upon himself to give us the sex talk, it’ll be every man for himself.”

Albus snorted. “Isn’t that kind of what got us into this situation...?”

“Albus!”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the Feel Good Scorbus Fest 2020. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/coriesocks) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/coriesocks) @coriesocks <3


End file.
